


The Coming of the Sun

by Omicheese



Series: Tales of Doriath [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen, simpler times, young people doing stupid things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omicheese/pseuds/Omicheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had he thought it through, he probably would have known that it was a bad idea to begin with.  Yet he had not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coming of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Celeborn is very wise and very graceful, but Galadriel seems to have no problems shutting him down (in front of company, no less) when he talks about Moria in The Lord of the Rings. This makes me think that, by elf standards, Celeborn must sometimes look like an idiot. I have to imagine that as a young person he was even worse. And that led me to write this.
> 
> I am operating under the assumption that Celeborn is a kinsman of Thingol and grew up in Doriath, like in the published Silmarillion.

“Oh dear.” Queen Melian’s voice really was one of the most beautiful things in Arda. It could not be denied. Not, of course, that there was much else Celeborn could appreciate at the moment. “What has happened here?”

A childish snicker came from somewhere to Celeborn’s right, just out of reach. “My cousin is an idiot, your Majesty!”

“Shut up, Thranduil.”

“It was stupid of you, though,” Mablung pointed out cheerfully, still gripping Celeborn’s left arm, even though they had long since come to a stop. Celeborn was hardly likely to collide with anything now, though Mablung probably knew better than to take any such chances.

“I think it poetic!” declared Daeron. He would. No doubt he was even now composing a song about it. “Our young Celeborn, drawn to the light like the moth to the flame, and then cruelly burned in the prime of his life! Let his fate serve as a metaphor and warning to us all!”

“I have such kind and caring friends, really.”

“I think I understand,” the Queen said, and with the power of her voice alone Celeborn could almost see her, seated on the right-hand throne, sparkling and ethereal. She was smiling in this magical mental image, but the corners of her mouth were pinched from trying not to laugh, “but I would prefer to hear it from Celeborn himself.”

Celeborn drew a long breath. “I…looked too long at the Sun, your Majesty.”

“ _Stared straight at her_ , you mean,” Mablung corrected unhelpfully.

“Well, I had thought she would be like the Moon,” Celeborn tried to explain, “but then she was not.” It had made sense at the time. Perhaps the burning sensation should have indicated that it was not a good idea after all.

“My usual policy,” Mablung commented, “is that if it hurts, _stop_.”

Even if his eyes were now useless, Celeborn could still roll them. “Duly noted, but a lot of good that does me _now_.”

“And now he is _blind_!” Thranduil cried gleefully as only rude baby cousins could.

“Shut up, Thranduil.”

“But think, cousin! Now you have a good excuse for being a clumsy oaf!”

“Shut _up_ , Thranduil.”

“I wonder, are you now the only blind elf _ever_?”

“I would kick you, if I knew where you were.” But of course Thranduil only laughed at him, along with apparently everyone else in the room. One of those laughing voices sounded like Luthien—a light, musical sound, like a woodwind instrument, or perhaps birds. Had Mablung brought Celeborn before the entire court? Hopefully Cousin Oropher at least was absent—it would probably not go over well to threaten to kick his son in front of him, even if said son was intolerable and even if Celeborn was in no position to make good on the threat. A loud clearing of the throat suggested that Celeborn was not so lucky. Typical.

“No, the Sun is not much like the Moon,” the Queen said softly, thankfully cutting off anything Cousin Oropher might have had to say. “They both bring light, yes, but the Moon is much kinder to elven eyes than the Sun. Tell me, how did you find her?”

“Beautiful,” Celeborn answered without hesitation. “I have never seen anything so beautiful.” It was more light than he had ever seen in his life. Celeborn had thought the Moon beautiful, when he first appeared, but he was nothing to the Sun. Celeborn had never imagined that Arda was full of so many colors. The trees _gleamed_ , the light shining through each leaf like stained glass. Flowers blinked out from the grass like stars. And the Sun herself—a giant, dazzling wheel of white and gold overwhelming the sky, so powerful that nothing could dare compare to her, filling his eyes and drowning him in light. “But very painful to look at,” he added as an afterthought.

“Yes, Arien has always been that way,” the Queen agreed. “She is a creature of fire, and burns all she sees. Even I could not meet her eyes for too long.” Her voice grew wistful, as it always did when she spoke of Valinor. Though her words painted beautiful pictures of the place, Celeborn always had a difficult time truly imagining it. Was it bright there all of the time? Did the Sun live there? Had she always lived there? Perhaps it was not for him to know.

“So,” Celeborn said, as one does when he realizes that his mistake should have been obvious from the start, “I should not have stared at her.”

“Probably not, no.”

“I see.”

“No, you do _not_ ,” Mablung teased.

 _That_ laughter definitely belonged to his Majesty. It was unmistakable, particularly as it was louder than everyone else’s. At least if Celeborn was embarrassing himself in front of all of Doriath at once, there would be no need for anyone to retell the story later. Or so he must hope. Daeron was still probably composing that song. Celeborn could hear him softly humming the tune of it already. “Come now, young kinsman,” his Majesty chuckled, “I am sure you have learned your lesson and it will not happen again. I doubt that you are the only person suffering from such an affliction after the events of this morning, though you might have stared the longest. Your eyes can be healed easily enough.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

“Follow me,” the Queen said, and Mablung half-dragged Celeborn away, presumably after her.

Celeborn had no idea which passageway he had been pulled into. He doubted that having his eyesight would have much improved the situation, however—he lost his way in Menegroth more often than was seemly, even though he had lived here all of his life. He had long had the sneaking suspicion that elves were not meant to live underground, though his brother had laughed at him when he voiced this.

“Celeborn?” Queen Melian whispered, but in the silence it was jarring nonetheless.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“I do not think it advisable to fall in love with the Sun. You will never reach her, and it will only hurt you to try. She belongs to no one.”

Queen Melian was right, and Celeborn knew it. He knew his place. But even still, his heart felt heavy at her words. “I understand, your Majesty.”

“But,” she added, and something in her voice seemed bright, “you shall not always dwell in darkness. There is light in your future, I think.”

For a long time after this, Celeborn was convinced that the Queen had been joking.


End file.
